


Fire

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole appears, Evelyn Trevelyan - Freeform, F/M, Hawke appears, Honestly though., I am ambivalent toward Maryden at the best of times, I am terrible at titles., Poison, Serious spoilers What Pride Had Wrought, Spoilers, angsty fluff, antidotes on the fly, merchant's guild veteran, rogues - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: Cassandra and Varric clarify some things. And Cole shows up.





	1. Chapter 1

            Frustration makes his voice raspier than usual. She can see the lines of tension that run through him. Her heart aches that she has put him into such a state by asking him an apparently more complicated question than she'd thought it was. His muscles clench and shift revealing his rogue's grace. Her skin flushes, she tries to keep her expression neutral. She doesn't want to cause him any more pain, yet, his body thrums with... something. He is wound as tightly as one of Maryden's lute strings, mere seconds before Cole unintentionally snapped it, by turning the peg a hair too far. Varric's snort of frustration brings her attention back to him with a jolt. He spears his hand through his hair and _growls_ a bit. She shifts on her crate, waiting. Patience has never been a strong point for her. She knows this, as does the man pacing in front of her.

            "I don't know what to call what I feel for you. 'Like' is insipid and 'love' is the seal that all but guarantees the story will end in agonizing tragedy for all parties involved, Seeker."

            Hope and pain war in her heart. This ass she has fallen in love with is trying his best to reject her, without causing her more pain. She makes an abortive move with her hand, unable to stop the tears that spill over her lashes and run down her face.  She jerks to her feet, like a puppet whose strings have been yanked. Steps to go around him, cannot give voice to the agony that burns within her breast. Eager hands circle her wrists, warm amber eyes meet hers, burning with earnest emotion.

            "Damnit, Cassandra. I'm flattered you think I'm _that_ good with words." His growl of frustration, oddly, releases some of the hurt that churns within her. She assents to his gentle pressure, indicating she should sit once more.

            "Shit." He moves, and suddenly her vision is overwhelmed by the dear face of her heart's desire. He doesn't just make her pulse thrum when he speaks, every etched line of his face, every golden spark within his eyes, the divot that marks the bow of his lips. She has mapped these landmarks subconsciously. He is so very _dear_ to her. If he rejects her suit, tells her no, she will survive. But this will be a loss that marks her. Like Anthony. Like Justinia.

            Gaylan's loss was a soft grief, the result of years of distance, time and duties which had pulled them apart initially. She remembered his letter, inviting her to come to his wedding a few years after their affair. She'd been so happy for him. Their relationship had moved comfortably from desire to friendship. As a Seeker of Truth her duties carried her all over Thedas, at times being awakened in the dead of night by a crow giving her orders that required immediate movement. She'd arranged her duties to coincide with his wedding. She'd cheered when the revered mother had placed his bride's hand in his own. Part of her had been surprised at how easily her heart had accepted the shift from lovers to cherished friend. She had come to the conclusion that maybe she wasn't built to sustain romantic relationships.

           She'd decided to fill that particular place in her heart with fictional characters. Wild romances she would never participate in but could long for and vicariously have by pretending. Her feelings for Varric had taken her by surprise. Everything had fallen into place for her that morning while she had been considering the strengths and weaknesses of her fellows. Evaluating their combined tactical strengths. 

            Years of battle had made her a master tactician. Cullen had requested her expertise in evaluating their party members and would accept her recommendations for teams to attack Adamant. He would present his final thoughts to the Inquisitor. It was this consideration that brought fully to mind how vital Varric had become to her. He was a master archer and rogue. The only blade he wielded sharper than his daggers or Bianca's bolts were his tongue. She'd winced with the rest of the tavern as he'd dressed Maryden down for her crass and ignorant commentary that had cast Hawke and her relationship with Broody in a nasty light.

            He'd done it calmly. Dressed her down in a conversational tone. Told her to keep her ignorant ass thoughts to herself. And if she ever wanted to grow-the-fuck-up and learn the truth, he'd be only too happy to speak to her. He'd spun on his heel, looked Hawke in the eye, nodded, arm out, "Messer, I apologize for the deplorable quality of the Herald's Rest's entertainment tonight. Once they take the trash out, we can come back, if you so desire. You still owe me for that bet we made last week." And they'd left, Hawke's eyes sparkling with unshed tears, tremulously smiling at her "brother-from-another-mother." Cassandra had been restrained from punching Maryden by Bull's hand on her arm and Dorian's fury. The exchange had highlighted even further for her the accuracy of Varric's ability to assess one's character and his mastery of words.

           This was the source of her increasing anxiety. She hadn't expected Varric to spout endless anthems of her beauty or his feelings for her. She had expected him to be able to converse with her however. She hadn't thought it would be this much trouble for him. The longer she sat, the more she needed to move. This inaction, this waiting, was tearing into her.

            "All I know is this," releasing one of her hands to gesture, her attention caught by him again. "The sun could go super-fucking-nova in the next five minutes and I don't - fuck - I don't need it to see by. To keep me warm. You do. I track where you are all the damned time. If you are happy, I'm over the Maker-be-damned moon. If you are sad, I wanna kill whatever bastard hurt you. It's not poetic, Cassandra, but, Andraste's tits if you aren't everything I've ever wanted -"

            His words pierce through her grief, her heart swells with hope. Did he? Yes? All the attendant fear, anxiety, and sorrow that have had her coiled on the edge of the box break in a cascade of joyous exaltation. She tackles him midspeech, peppering his face with her tears and kisses. His laughter and arms snaking around her bring her focus to his eyes.

            He flips them over in a swift motion. They are suddenly breathless, excitement shifting to anticipation. Her eyes darken with desire, his voice rasps even lower.

            "Tell me to stop any time, Cass." With that he captures her lips with his own, the crash of the door, breaking through the fog of passion. They look as one to the doorway. They get quickly to their feet when they see Cole flicker in the doorway.

            "Agony, and fire. Dances through her veins. Magical mirrors be damned. Samson's screams haunt her. The burning elf water burns her. My maker, its actual fire. Eleryn's poisoned lyrium. Ostwick. Black fear clutching at my throat." Cole turns his eyes to the stunned rogue, agony in his words, "Please help, Varric!"

            Cole's summons finds their ardor cooled in terror for their friend. As they sprint after the boy, Varric runs the list of antidotes in his head, trusting Cassandra to pray for the both of them that they get it to Evie in time.

 


	2. Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear.

      Evelyn Sophia Marie Trevelyan, second daughter to Terns Dalton Edred and Tiana Elizabet of Ostwick, Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, screamed. Vaguely, dully, she heard the screams. Distantly, she knew they were boiling out of her own throat. But they were, and weren’t her own. The fire of torment lit her from her bones consuming outward until she was a corona of pain.

  
     She wasn’t certain how long the eternity lasted before the dark began licking at the edges of her consciousness. There was one final spike of pain, riven through the top of her skull before blackness swallowed her entirely. She wasn’t aware of the arms that wrapped around her, lifting her gently from the bottom of the now empty pool.

  
      Nor was she aware of thee jostling as her carrier ran pell mell toward the now open portal that would take them all from the Graves to a dusty storage room off Skyhold’s Healer’s garden. She didn’t feel the tears that dripped to her face, nor the shaking of the frame of the broad arms which gingerly carried her to the guest quarters just to the left of the little Chantry in the gardens. She never heard the anguished roar of her lover.

  
      She didn’t see the trial and summary expulsion of the witch who’d lied about the contents of the pool, and the temple. She wasn’t aware of the Inquisition”s forces flying from the Graves to return to Skyhold. She didn’t know of the hurried war table missions planning the Inquisition’s next push against Corypheus, and his armies. She wasn’t aware of the revelation that Corypheus survived death by taking over the nearest Grey Warden.  
     

     She was still burning.

* * *

 

     “Fuck, fuck, fuckety, fuck.” Varric and Cassandra ran as quickly as they could toward his quarters.They’d stopped above the forge to gather all the healing and restorative potions Cassandra had left over from the Inquisition’s last jaunt to the Graves before heading to his room where he had ingredients for antidotes he could make “on the fly”. Chuckling grimly he gathered all his ingredients before barreling after Cassandra to the “guest quarters.” Hopefully, being so close to the healing gardens would help him tweak the antidote should that be necessary.

     "How do you know so much about poisons, and antidotes that you carry an apothacary's tools with you, Varric?" Her brow furrowed beautifully. She wasn't going to appreciate his answer, so, he hedged.

     "I picked it up a little here, a little there. I did travel with Hawke for over a decade, plus, Merchant's Guild, with Carta connections." He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Bianca's family" toward the dried herbs he was examining before stuffing them into his bag. Her heart was a bevy of warring emotions. Patience was never her strong suit. In times like these, it was even less of a virtue.

  
     “Varric!” She ground out. “What can I help you carry?”

  
     He knew it wasn’t appropriate, hell, defense mechanisms rarely were. His lips curled into a smirk.

  
     “Anything you like, Seeker.” Her frustrated growl had him shoving a bag of accouterments into her arms. He spun her around, knowing he would pay for his rough handling of her so soon on the heels of them declaring their feelings for one another, propelled her toward the sick room with a swat on her backside. “But run.”

  
     “Ass.” She nodded at his full arms and they both took off at a sprint. She fought to control her smile She was always impressed by his ability to keep up with her longer strides. Over a decade of running with people who were much taller than he was certainly had helped. She had admired his calves on previous occasions. Even as she was terrified they would not be able to save Evelyn, her heart still celebrated the beginning she and Varric had embarked on today.  
     

     Cole met them at the door, grief etched on the boy’s face. One word encompassing all thought and emotion, “Hurry.”

  
     Entering Evelyn’s room with the prescience born of battles and attacks, Varric and Cassandra glanced around the room and as one ran to the table, clearing it off with a swoop. Varric chuckled. He responded to Cassandra’s quirked eyebrow.

  
     “Gonna have to work that move into one of my novels. That’s pretty cool. Though the clean up is going to suck.” All the while they spoke they worked as a solid unit. Pulling ampules, vials, mortar and pestle, herbs and various other liquids from the bags they’d brought from Varric’s room. Despite the speed with which they worked, Cassandra tentatively put forth her suggestion. Wary still of being mocked.

    “Maybe it would work for the Guard Captain and her Lover, when they are reunited again?”

     “Perhaps.” He acknowledged. Just then Cole began chanting.

     “Maker this burns, no one told me it would burn, drink the pretty elven water which evaporates into fire. I’ll kill that damned witch if I ever survive. Oh maker Solas will never let me hear the end of it.” His voice broke in agonized screaming. His friend’s agony pierced through his thoughts.

  
     “Where the FUCK is Chuckles?! He’d be able to see what to do better than I, all I know are antidotes to poisions that feel like fire.” Varric grumbled even as he pulled together antidote ingredients. Cassandra danced on her toes, waiting for Varric to direct her. Cole watched.

  
     “Varric, add blood lotus. To temper the pain. Solas is coming. He has said goodbye to Wisdom and is hurrying back. Caution has given him a quicker path to Skyhold than the one Evelyn took out.”

  
     Nodding, he finished the antidote, Cassandra snatched it from his trembling hands at his assent. She dribbled it between Evelyn’s lips. Cole’s exclamation of relief, cheered the room. His next words shot fear through them in the next moment.

  
     “But you were going to take me with you to Ostwick. You promised.” Great enormous tears rolled down the boy’s face.

  
     Cassandra’s softly gasped, “NO!” tore through Varric’s heart. It was at that moment the door very literally blew up. Thankfully the shards flew outward rather than into the room. They were momentarily shaken from their grief by a very angry Tevene.

  
     “Andraste’s ass! Why wasn’t I told about Evie’s condition?!” Dorian shouted even as healing magic flowed from his hands into the prone and still form of their friend. He ignored the tears flowing down to drip onto his robes. “I know I am not as good at this as our bald friend, but I am better than nothing! Oh, Evie, you are not allowed to die on me. You still owe me 30 royals, you bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to go in the "Attraction" folder, but it feels like it wants to be part of something else. If nothing resolves, I might move it there, but for now, it has its own place.


End file.
